


Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare

by AuthorMAGrant



Series: The Family That Preys Together, Stays Together [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hunter Yuuri, M/M, Vampire Victor, Victuuri vampire au, hunter Otabek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-13 23:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorMAGrant/pseuds/AuthorMAGrant
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki may be the Brotherhood's preeminent research on vampire Victor Nikoforov, but he's hiding a dangerous secret. Years of studying the silver-haired vampire means Yuuri's academic interest has transformed to something far more personal, and he risks execution if the Brotherhood finds out his true feelings. He never would have guessed a surprise raid on Yakov's nest would result in Victor's capture, or his arrival at the Brotherhood's base for interrogation. He probably should have guessed the Brotherhood would send him in to learn all he could from the dangerous creature. And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that spending those few short hours with Victor would be enough to transform his life forever. The clock's ticking and the war between Brotherhood and vampires will never be same ...





	1. 06:31

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Staronet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staronet/gifts), [Stellarblau](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Stellarblau).



Yuuri Katsuki didn’t feel guilty. That was the problem.

He _should_ have felt guilt. Instead, he’d kept his eyes closed and let his body climb toward the brink of orgasm while pretending it was Victor fucking him into the mattress instead of Otabek, his friend and fellow Hunter. At least he hadn’t called out Victor’s name when he came. He doubted Otabek would be bothered if he said another man’s name during sex—they were only lovers for convenience anyway, since Otabek’s taste ran towards blonds—but it would be harder to explain why he was calling out _that_ name.

The Brotherhood had been hunting Victor for centuries, intent on ending the vampire’s bloody journey around the world. Instead of focusing on his job of finding and killing Victor, Yuuri was fantasizing about him. Had been for years. It needed to stop.

_But it won’t._

He grimaced at himself in the bathroom mirror and turned off the light. He couldn’t shut his inner voice up, but the self-loathing was so much easier to bear when he didn’t have to meet his own gaze.

“Mind locking up when you leave?” he asked Otabek on his way back into the bedroom.

The only response was a low grunt from the bed, where Otabek had his head buried beneath the pillow. Yuuri took it as a yes. Otabek had been awake before Yuuri, but sex always made him drowsy and loose-limbed, and if Yuuri stayed in bed, he’d cuddle up against him without hesitation. Sometimes Yuuri tolerated the intimacy, but other times, like today, he fled the warmth of his bed because he feared he wouldn’t be able to hide how little that human connection meant to him.

“Why are you leaving now?” Otabek mumbled. “Thought you were sticking around this morning.”

If he was a good person, he would. Otabek had just returned from a month-long hunt in India. There was plenty of information to gather about the nests he’d cleaned up down there, and Yuuri’s handler wouldn’t say boo about them spending most of the day fucking around in bed as long as Yuuri turned in detailed notes the next day. But Yuuri wasn’t a good person and he wasn’t in the mood to pretend otherwise. Not this morning, when he was so close to unlocking another detail about Victor’s journey through Gorbachev’s Soviet Union, the time period when he’d discovered Baba Malinovyy and, years later, the Ice Tiger of Russia. The journals and letters couldn’t wait. Otabek could.

 “I’m finishing up a report,” he said. He tugged on a shirt that somewhat matched the pants he was wearing, threw on a sweater over it, and looked around the room for his glasses.

Without looking, Otabek lifted a hand and pointed to the dresser. “You put them over there last night.”

So there were some benefits to having a consistent fuck buddy. Yuuri picked up his glasses and checked the lenses to make sure they were clean. “Thanks.”

“Have you ever thought about getting out of research and returning to the hunt?” Otabek asked. He’d finally given up on going back to sleep and had thrown the pillow onto Yuuri’s side of the bed. He watched Yuuri put on his glasses with soft regard, as if Yuuri’s forgetfulness was endearing instead of annoying.

Yuuri wished he felt more for the man. Otabek Altin was the Brotherhood’s greatest soldier, their perfect recruitment tool, and their most successful publicity stunt. He was lethal in a fight, intelligent, and had a wickedly dry sense of humor. His body wasn’t half-bad either. Warm, dark skin crisscrossed with a patchwork of pale scars. Muscles that served function more than beauty. A face made up of strong planes, etched with a stoicism gained from miserable losses normal people could never recover from. He was a giving lover and reliable friend. He always knew Yuuri’s takeout orders and where he put his glasses and how to water Yuuri’s plants so they wouldn’t die when he was in the middle of a research binge.

If he weren’t already in love with Victor, Yuuri probably could have fallen for Otabek. But that would never happen, and there was no point lamenting the _what if_ s of life.

“I’ve tried hunting. It didn’t work for me,” Yuuri said, wondering if Otabek would keep pushing.

He did, but switched the conversation’s direction as effortlessly as he switched weapons mid-fight. “What’s your report on?”

It wasn’t an attempt to avoid the confrontation. He was simply attacking from a different angle. They’d danced around this subject over and over for years, so Yuuri was prepared. “I’ve been translating some of Victor’s letters and journals from the Revolution. Those led me to new documents about how they increased the nest’s size. I’m hoping they’ll give us more insight into Yakov and the others.”

“I should have known it’d tie to Victor,” Otabek said. There was no ire in his voice, just casual statement of the facts. He reached down and dragged the sheets up to cover more of his body. “I doubt anyone in the Brotherhood knows more about him than you do.”

 _That’s true. No one could ever know Victor like I do. No one else could ever prove that to him._ But instead of saying that, Yuuri stuck with, “Did I ever tell you I went toe to toe with him?”

The younger hunter shifted, raising up until the sheet fell and covered his lap. “No.”

“It was in Paris. I found him at a fashion show. He knew what I was and he stopped and turned and _smiled_ at me.” Even at the memory, Yuuri’s lips curled with private delight. “He didn’t try to kill me. He just stood there and asked if I wanted a photograph. A _photograph_.”

It took Yuuri a moment to realize Otabek was frowning. He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his thighs while he pinned Yuuri with a searching look. “Why didn’t you agree? Pull him away and finish him off?”

 _Because I saw past his mask. Because he looked relieved to finally face death. And because I understood his desire for someone else to make the choice easy._ Otabek wouldn’t understand any of those reasons. After the pain he’d suffered at the hands of vampires like Victor, he’d never be able to see or comprehend what Yuuri had. It was an argument he wasn’t willing to have, and a memory he wasn’t willing to let someone else tarnish.

Yuuri closed his eyes and recited the same lie he’d given his handler all those years ago. “There was too great a risk to the nearby civilians.” He opened his eyes and shrugged, emotions packed neatly away once more. “That’s why I left the field. I had an opportunity and failed. It didn’t make sense to become a burden to the Brotherhood. Besides, I’m better at reading and writing than killing anyway.”

He didn’t mention leaving the field gave him access to the Brotherhood’s libraries of primary documents, documents that included Victor’s private writings. He didn’t mention he was afraid he’d pick Victor over the Brotherhood’s orders, even though there was no rational reason for him to behave in such a manner. In fact, it’s not like he’d ever see Victor again. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have a chance to talk to the vampire alone.

“If you ever change your mind,” Otabek began, still watching Yuuri closely even as he let the statement trail off.

He forced on a wan smile, shook his head, and returned to the bed long enough to steal one last kiss. It wasn’t a romantic gesture; it was a means to an end. He let Otabek melt into it, let the physicality of the act distract him, and pulled away when he felt the corners of the Kazakh man’s mouth turn up. “Safe hunting,” he said on his way out of the apartment.

“Don’t get a papercut,” Otabek called back.

And so the morning continued on, as it always did.


	2. 16:07

There wasn’t much time. Victor knew hell was about to gape open its jaws to swallow their nest whole.

“We aren’t leaving Georgi!” Mila wiped angrily at the tears falling down her cheeks, ignoring her girlfriend Sara’s best efforts to drag her toward the escape exit of the nest.

“Where is he?” Yuri demanded. Unlike Mila, he held his tears in check, but the furious flush of his cheeks and fanged snarl warned he was barely clinging to emotional control. He’d lost Nikolai years ago. Tonight he lost Georgi. Life could be cruel.

If Victor had a heart left, it would be breaking. But there wasn’t time. There wasn’t a spare moment to stop and grieve. Not if he wanted his family to live. For once, that familiar numbness became useful.

“We’ll find him later,” Victor promised. “We need to go now.”

Both young vampires protested, but their arguments were cut off by the return of Yakov Feltsman, their nest’s leader.

“Georgi’s gone feral,” the old vampire said, closing and locking the heavy doors leading into this inner sanctuary of the nest. “We can’t help him. Not now, not like this.”

The oxygen seemed to vanish from the room and Mila and Yuri both fell silent.

“Do you have what you need?” Yakov asked them. They gave miserable nods and he turned his attention back to Victor. “And you?”

“Yes.” No, not really. He’d lost the man who was as close to him as a brother and was about to abandon the home he’d helped Yakov build from the ground up.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. When Georgi had received Michele’s message, he and Victor rushed from the nest to check on Anya. They’d found her—what was left of her—and Victor couldn’t burn the stench of strigoii morti and rent flesh from his nose. Georgi lost his wife and their unborn child in a foul, vengeful strike by a petty man. Victor tried to drag Georgi away from the scene, was nearly shredded for his efforts, and had to return to the nest empty handed. Warning the rest of the family of the coming storm came first.

A muffled explosion sounded from the farthest front entrance of their underground nest.

Victor and Yakov glanced at each other. For a brief moment, Yakov held their gazes and Victor saw his own sorrow mirrored there. As born vampires, it was their duty to retreat, to flee to safety and restart the bloodline. Their brothers and sisters, those vampires who had been turned over the years, would stay behind to secure their escape. It was inevitable. It was gutting. It was the reason Victor had stopped caring what happened to him. You could only carry the loss of so many lives before you broke under the weight.

“We don’t have much time,” Yakov warned.

Milla was the first to turn away, gasping down ragged sobs as she finally let Sara lead her to the tunnel that would grant them safe passage out of the nest. Yuri stared at the door, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth. Victor watched his knuckles grow whiter from the tight clench of his fists around the strap of the bag he’d slung over his shoulder. The young man was a fighter, in the purest sense of the word. Nikolai had coaxed him back from the feral child who’d watched his parents be murdered before his eyes by the Brotherhood. He’d learned control with Victor and Yakov’s help, but as the years went on, had become Victor’s charge more than anyone else’s. Victor knew how much this retreat would cost him, knew how Yuri wouldn’t forgive him for a long time. He knew Yuri taking a step toward the door wasn’t a challenge of Yakov’s orders or an attempt to prove his own mettle; it was a last delay to take in the splendor of the room, to fix the images of this home in his memory one last time before he walked away from it for good.

“Ready?” Victor asked him, even though they both already knew the answer.

“He’d better fucking find us,” Yuri growled, stabbing a finger into Victor’s pectoral before spinning around and following after the women.

Yakov waited until Yuri had vanished into the darkness of the tunnel to focus on the sounds of the battle occurring beyond the doors. Victor had already tilted his head, listening with growing concern.

“They arrived en force, didn’t they?” His voice was too quiet in the room. It was wrong to sound like that here in Yakov’s office, a space that was supposed to be his sanctuary, but ended up serving as the family’s living room instead.

Yakov frowned, and if it wasn’t the eve of their family’s potential annihilation, Victor might have smiled at the familiar appearance of lines over the man’s forehead and around his mouth. “They’ll make it to the tunnel before we can get out.”

“And Michele has strigoii.” Victor leaned his weight back on his heels and crossed his arms, watching his mentor. “If they catch our scent at the tunnel’s exit, we’re all dead.”

“I know.”

The moment he stepped forward and wrapped Yakov in a tight hug, he knew the man understood his decision. The iron spine remained, but Yakov’s shoulders dropped and it wasn’t shock making his muscles tense. It was pain and regret.

“Vitya, you don’t have to do this. Can’t we talk?” the older vampire mumbled into Victor’s shoulder.

He pulled back a bit and tried to smile. “Yakov, you’re the best teacher I could have ever had. Nothing will change that.”

Walking Yakov toward the tunnel wasn’t as difficult as he feared. He handed over the worn leather suitcase and adjusted Yakov’s scarf one last time. Just because the man couldn’t catch cold didn’t mean he should leave looking unfashionable. Yakov tried to wait him out, but the nearing sound of gunfire warned they were out of time. He took a slow step backwards and Victor began to drag the heavy bookshelf that hid the exit back into place. It was three-quarters of the way there when Yakov’s urgent plea met his ears. “If you walk away now, you may never come back.”

The confusion in his mentor’s voice almost slowed Victor’s movements. But it was better this way and he wouldn’t let something as inane as sentiment distract him from his purpose. “Goodbye. I’m sorry, but this time I can’t do as you say.”

“What do you mean _this time_? You’ve never done what I said once since I’ve known you!”

Victor laughed at the angry complaint, heart lightening a bit. The bookshelf clicked back into place, locking Yakov and the rest of the family safely in the tunnel. Which left Victor with a few precious moments to compose himself.

He adjusted the books on the shelves, ensuring there was no sign of the hidden door. He glanced around the room and felt the iron bands around his ribs pulling tighter, tighter, tighter … Georgi and Anya’s ultrasound pictures were display prominently by the picture of Lilia as she accepted a bouquet after her performance as Giselle. Yakov hid lemon drops in the bottom drawer of his desk. Only Milla ate lemon drops. The coffee table—an antique from the tsar’s days—sat near a worn couch Yuri chose to frequent. Yakov used to lay out his art books there, but now the table was buried under piles of half-started spy novels and dog-eared classics Yakov was forcing Yuri to work through. One of Sara’s disastrous attempts at a knitted scarf hung from the coat rack, needles still stored in the rat’s nest of yarn. Yakov had rescued it from the trash when she wasn’t looking; he said she just needed practice and might want to return to the project later. The framed photographs around the room were Victor’s contribution. Yakov had bought him a camera after a particularly brutal move to Paris and Victor had used the distance between life and the lens to try to reconnect with himself. Yakov had been rabidly supportive.

Everywhere Victor looked, the room swam with echoes of the family’s glory days. They’d not only moved back to Russia, but they’d finally settled in and _lived_. Yakov was their pillar of strength and he would keep the others going long after they fled and created a new nest. Of that, Victor was certain. Yakov had just given Victor the gift he needed so desperately.

A way out.

The fight was nearly over. The last vampires had barricaded themselves in front of the office door. Their screams and growls and bellows of pain and death sounded mere inches away. The wooden door shivered from the impact of bullets and slumping bodies. Victor crossed to Yakov’s record player and flipped through the options stored on the shelf nearby. He found the one he wanted and set it up, checking the volume to ensure it was loud enough.

When the first gentle strains of the song began, Victor moved to the center of the room. There was no point in using weapons. His fangs were deadly enough, and the whole point of this was to limit the Brotherhood’s fatalities. His job was to serve as bait, to distract the bastards as long as he could so everyone else could escape.

_Sento una voce che piange lontano. Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?_ the singer asked, his voice heavy with emotion despite the record’s gentle scratches.

Nothing beyond the door.

He set his feet. Let his arms hang loose. Lowered his head so his silver hair hung forward to cover part of his face.

The doors flexed and shivered. The Brotherhood was figuring out how to enter the inner sanctum. If not for the inevitable outcome of this fight, he would have felt a touch of amusement when they discussed in harsh whispers whether they should blow the door or simply cut through the lock.

They went with the explosion. They always did.

He was lucky no chunks of wood flew and staked him. That would have been awkward. Instead, he maintained the illusion of a statue as the Hunters closed in around him. Most of them were young, led by a few older, more experienced fighters. Pity. Maybe it wouldn’t be much of a brawl after all. It would be embarrassing to return so easily to Yakov after such a dramatic parting.

“Watch it,” one of the Hunter leaders warned.

Victor fought the feral grin tugging at his mouth. Failed. The poor boy coming for him was too close, too eager to take down a legend and make a name for himself. His blood was too salty, but the noises he made were too sweet for Victor to resist the familiar pull of battle and all its glory.

The room echoed with the rapid reports of gunfire. They offered jarring discord to Victor’s song, but he focused on the smooth flow of Italian instead, the cloying bitterness of muscle tissue ripped unwilling from resistant skin, the symphony of death rattles and gurgles as he danced from victim to victim.

Death was his art. And, by God, he was a master.

It was going to end too soon. There truly wasn’t a match out there for him anymore. The record clicked off and Victor took in the carnage. His shoes were ruined, as was his suit. Nothing was left of the Brotherhood’s attack squad. He sighed, licked some blood from his hand, and ran it through his hair, doing his best to finger-comb it back into some semblance of order.

“What now?” he asked the empty room.

From far away, near the entrance to the nest, he heard voices. Zeroed in on a familiar voice that rose and fell with irritated machismo. Ah, so maybe the fight wasn’t over. And maybe it wouldn’t be boring for much longer.

“I hear you, Michele,” Victor sang, ignoring that he was a little off-key, a little too loud for the charnel house he abandoned without second thought. The promise of vengeance was intoxicating, even if it meant he was walking out into a trap. No one would ever say Victor Nikiforov was afraid to face adversity. “Are you coming in?”

Silence.

He chuckled and stretched, letting the muscles of his back lengthen and bunch before he rolled them back into place. “I guess not.”

And so Victor walked out of his nest to face the man who had destroyed his family, ready and willing to die, as he had been for decades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day?? *awkward shrug* Obviously more shit's going to happen. But for now, enjoy some chocolate or roses or something.


	3. 16:08

“Brother Katsuki! Brother Katsuki!”

Yuuri smiled as he reshelved a book. He made sure to school his features into something more professional before he held onto the ladder and glanced over his shoulder. Brother Kenjirou—Minami, as he preferred to be called—was waiting below with the awkwardly familiar expression of hero worship Yuuri had never managed to dull.

“Did you need something?”

Minami nodded and clutched a large book tighter to his chest. “I finished the collection of documents like you told me.”

“What do you think about them?”

Minami frowned a little as Yuuri climbed down. “I’m not sure I understand why you made me go back to read the documents relating to Yakov Feltsman. You said I should if I wanted to understand Victor better, but I guess I don’t see the connection.” He sighed and his head hung down so he could avoid Yuuri’s gaze. “I’ll never be good enough to be a master archivist like you.”

Yuuri walked past Minami, smacking the back of his head lightly on his way, and stood by the stack of journals he needed to finish putting back. “What did you learn about Feltsman?”

“He’s the leader of Victor’s nest. Came to power a little after 1810.”

“So why is he important to the histories?”

Minami’s brow furrowed and he moved to the table. Once he was sitting, he opened the book and began flipping back through the pages. Yuuri bit down his smile. Even if the Brotherhood didn’t have him officially teaching the histories of the vampires they hunted, the highest of the order had granted him permission to loan out texts to younger Brothers he thought would benefit from the information. Minami had led a hard life before joining the Brotherhood and he was eager to improve himself in every way possible. Yuuri appreciated his dedication and pushed him harder than any other student he had.

“Feltsman saw firsthand what it cost Alexander I to defeat Napoleon,” Minami said slowly. “The fact that he chose to remain in the area, that he specifically chose to nest with or turn others who had similar war experiences must mean something …”

Yuuri nodded and flipped forward in the collection. He had the damn thing memorized, so it was muscle memory to tap the exact paragraph he wanted Minami to focus on. “What does this letter back to Nikolai Plisetsky say about Victor?”

While Minami rested his chin on his hands and began to read the painstakingly detailed script of the letter copy, Yuuri stole a moment to return a few of the books to their original places. He’d spent most of the day verifying and reviewing older documents about Feltsman’s nest and family unit. Once he’d read Victor’s letters during the Revolution, he’d known he would need to review everything he’d learned so far about the vampires. Today’s work, while time-consuming and monotonous, had revealed new information he hoped the Brotherhood would be able to use. Small details, like how Victor helped Feltsman woo Baba Malinovyy to join them and how Victor served as a mentor for the notoriously unstable Ice Tiger of Russia, revealed that the nest members’ relationships were far more complicated than the Brotherhood believed. If they could find out how the vampire hierarchy worked, they’d be able to focus their efforts on trapping a single, important vampire instead of all of them, lessening the risk to their Brothers in the field.

“Feltsman says Victor has _immense potential_ ,” Minami read.

Yuuri could hear the sneer and rolled his eyes. “Get past your prejudice. He’s got immense potential as what?”

Silence. Then, the quiet murmur of words being reviewed aloud, and eventually, “A uniting force for our family.”

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder. Minami was staring down at the book, finger tapping against the page while he thought. When he noticed Yuuri watching him, he asked, “How could Victor unite the family?”

“He’d survived the Revolution and the second World War,” Yuuri said. “He spent a great deal of time living alongside the human soldiers, hiding who he was from them.”

“So … he was becoming a smarter hunter?”

Yuuri frowned. “No … No, that’s not it at all. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that a vampire—one of the greatest predators our world has ever seen—voluntarily chose to spend his time with humans?”

Minami shrugged and closed the book. “Sounds like he knew there’d be plenty of dead or dying men he could snack on.”

_No, it doesn’t. It sounds like he believed in the cause he was fighting for._ Yuuri didn’t say that though. Minami wasn’t at a point where he could hear and process that information. Sometimes Yuuri wondered why it was so easy for him to accept it. The notion that vampires might be honorable, even moral, went against every teaching the Brotherhood held. It was treason to even contemplate that Victor may have focused on more than the taste of blood. Yet, Yuuri couldn’t shake the thought from his head. And after reading Victor’s letters and journals, the quiet belief that he wasn’t completely evil had finished digging its roots into Yuuri’s very soul. There was no denying the shift in his opinion. There was no denying what the Brotherhood would do to him if they discovered that.

He’d crossed too many lines already today. He’d talked to Otabek. He was trying to get Minami to see the same evidence he’d seen. If he pushed too far, his carefully erected little world would crumble down around him.

“Maybe you’re right,” Yuuri lied. “But now that you’ve read Feltsman’s documents, you’ll probably be in a better place to read Victor’s first collection of—”

The loud murmurs from the hall outside the archives interrupted his train of thought. Even Minami rose, giving Yuuri a confused look. “What’s that?” the young man asked. “Is there a drill we don’t know about?”

“I doubt it,” Yuuri said, but he was already planning which documents he’d save if they were facing a forced evacuation. Most were just for practice, but as tensions rose, the threat of vampires attacking was becoming more and more realistic. “Give me a second and I’ll see what’s happening.”

Stepping out into the hallway was surreal, like stepping into the stream of an excited crowd of parade goers. Brothers swept through the hall, jostling and laughing and talking loudly over each other. They were all headed the same direction, but Yuuri couldn’t think of why they were heading toward the central meeting hall. He reached out and plucked one of the young men from the crowd by the sleeve, pulling him out of the throng.

“Brother Katsuki,” the man said, surprise briefly wiping the excitement from his expression, “did you need something?”

“What’s going on?” Yuuri asked.

The younger Brother’s grin widened and he clapped a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “They’ve started the assault. They’re going to take the Feltsman nest!”

Yuuri’s stomach dropped. “H-how?”

The man shrugged and looked longingly after the rest of the crowd. “No one knows. It was a secret operation. That’s why Brother Altin’s been back!” He tilted his head back and laughed. “God, they’re going to kick those fucking demons’ asses! We’re going to the hall because they’re going to give us what updates they can in real time. Want to come?”

“No,” Yuuri mumbled. “No, I’ll be fine here. Thank you.”

He must have looked like hell when he walked back into the archives. Minami straightened and crossed to him, reaching out before he stopped himself and let his hand drop back to his side. “What’s happening?”

“The Brotherhood launched an assault on Feltsman’s nest. You can go to the main hall if you want more news.”

“Nah. I’ll stay here and help you with organizing. Besides, I’m sure Brother Altin and the others will be fine. They’ll be boring updates.”

Yuuri was grateful Minami misread his anxiety. He smiled and nodded and quietly directed his student which books to start with. Meanwhile, he tried to get his racing pulse back under control. He could at least manage that, even if he couldn’t manage to convince himself that the terror icing over his veins was fear for Otabek, not Victor. Some lies were too obvious for even him to believe.

*****

The news from the assault was bad. In the following hour, it got worse. The once jubilant crowds which had passed the archives a short while ago were replaced with trickles of pale-faced men, moving with the same shell-shocked pace of funeral goers. Yuuri sent Minami away, claiming the need to process the information they’d received from one of the older hunters who’d come to make sure they knew what had happened.

Three entire squads decimated. Michele killed after the strigoii morti protecting him had been ripped to shreds by Victor and the enraged Russian vampire had finally broken through the main line to reach him. Otabek was alive, thank God, but the death toll was the highest the Brotherhood had ever suffered in a single battle. No one knew what happened to Victor in the confusing aftermath of the assault. Worse, while the lesser vampires had been killed, the true nuclear family of born vampires had escaped. Except Victor. Victor had stayed behind to face the Brotherhood.

Yuuri wondered if it had been a relief for him to finally face death that way. And the thought that he’d done it alone broke Yuuri’s heart.

He was still sitting in the depths of the archives, uselessly shuffling and reshuffling his stack of books, when Otabek walked in. For a man who’d just watched some of their best hunters get slaughtered, Otabek seemed disgustingly chipper.

“I brought you a present,” Otabek said with a wide grin.

Yuuri turned away, unable to stomach the sight of his good mood. “I don’t think last night was _that_ good,” Yuuri countered. He needed to do _something_ instead of standing there, so he grabbed the first book off his stack and headed for the shelf.

Otabek trailed after him, idly rubbing the backs of his knuckles, which were red and swollen from the fight. At least his gloves had protected them enough to keep them from splitting. “Different kind of present,” he said.

“Oh?”

Yuuri was about to return to the pile for another book when Otabek reached out and stopped his hand’s motion. His fingers curled gently around Yuuri’s wrist and he waited until Yuuri dared make eye contact with him. “What if you didn’t have to use dusty books for research anymore?”

He frowned. “Then I’d be out of a job.”

“Unless I got you a better source.”

“And what would this source be?”

Otabek didn’t answer. Instead, he led Yuuri out of the archive. They made their way down hall after hall, through the command center of the Brotherhood’s stronghold. Yuuri tried his best not to shrink away, but every step they moved closer to the hunters’ area, the higher his anxiety grew. He wasn’t a soldier. Not anymore. He’d lost the taste for blood years ago.

As if he sensed Yuuri’s hesitance, Otabek tugged again on his hand and turned off down a different hall. This place was different. There were only two doors down here. A stone-faced hunter stood by the farthest door, although his composure broke a little at the sight of Otabek. He didn’t go full-on hero worship, but his deference was clear when he nodded and said, “They’re waiting for you, Brother Altin.”

Otabek punched a code into the nearer door’s lock and waited for the buzz to push it open. He stepped in, pulled Yuuri in behind after him, and went stiff-backed. “Brother Lincoln, I’ve brought Brother Katsuki.”

“Ah, our expert.”

Panic beat a crazed tempo through his skulll, leaving him light-headed. Brother Lincoln was one of their greatest leaders. The man had been hunting Feltsman for decades. Yuuri gave an awkward bow. “Brother Lincoln.”

The man waved a hand. He cut an imposing figure, straight backed, broad shouldered, and bald, which somehow made his craggy features even more threatening. “Brother Katsuki, before we go any further, I must warn you that what you are about to hear will not go beyond those of us in this room. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Brother Altin has achieved a coup,” Lincoln said. Pride tinged the edges of his words and Otabek’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “When he returned here, he demanded that you be brought in. Said you were the only person in this goddamn organization who could make use of the prize he won during the assault.”

“Oh?” Yuuri’s mouth dried out. He had no idea Otabek thought so highly of him.

Lincoln glanced at Otabek and tilted his head toward the large window set into the far wall. “Perhaps you’d like to take a look?”

The invitation wasn’t one he would refuse. It didn’t matter what Otabek had retrieved during the attack; if he thought Yuuri was the only person capable of handling it correctly, it would be worth the time and energy. He granted Otabek one final look. His lover pointed toward the window. “Don’t keep us waiting, Brother Katsuki,” he said. Only Yuuri could hear the teasing note in his voice and it was enough to push him forward.

The world around him suddenly didn’t matter anymore.  Yuuri ignored the murmurs of conversation behind him. He was too distracted by the room beyond the two-way glass. Technically, by the man chained to a chair in the room beyond the two-way glass.

“That’s Victor Nikiforov,” he whispered, reaching out to place a reverent hand on the pane.

He heard Otabek chuckle from behind him. “Surprise.”


	4. 17:13

_It could be worse_ , Victor decided, staring at the dull gray floor of the holding cell. _Not much worse, but a little worse._

His family could have been caught before they escaped. He could have been torn apart by strigoii morti before he reached that fucking traitorous bastard who tried to kill those he loved. He could have been stabbed with silver and left to die slowly and painfully. In the bigger scheme of things, the evening could have gone very poorly.

Instead, he’d ripped out Michele’s throat, nearly ripped out his heart, and was well on his way to decimating the last line of enemies before some short, stocky Hunter slammed an elbow to his temple and proceeded to use the momentary advantage to immobilize him. Once he was tied up with silver wires around his wrists and ankles, it had taken very little work for the Hunter to sling him over a shoulder and drag him back behind the chaotic remnants of the Brotherhood’s armies. From there, things had proceeded faster than Victor expected.

Elders had been consulted, Victor had been black bagged and stuffed in a vehicle of some kind, then jabbed in the neck with a surprisingly sharp needle. Darkness had claimed him quickly enough he didn’t even have time to think _Finally, they’re going to let me die_.

Instead, he’d awoken in this room, chained within an inch of his life, and pestered by the disgruntled realization, _They_ aren’t _going to kill me after all._

He heaved a sigh and let his head rest against the back of the chair. He had no doubt his fatalistic mentality was little more than a shield for some truly disturbed mental patterns, but after centuries of life and death and chaos and inevitable disappointment, there probably weren’t many who could claim the world was full of sunshine and roses. Hell, you want proof of that, look no further than Yuri. The poor kid had been through so much shit it was incredible he still got up in the evenings at all.

Victor understood _why_ Yuri felt that way. He had felt much the same way for decades. But eventually the rage that fueled him had burned away, leaving nothing behind but an empty, aching husk. Victor had been living with _that_ version of himself for far too long.

He needed something, someone, anything that could help him find purpose again for his life.

“You’ll be fine, Vitya,” Yakov used to say. “Every born vampire goes through this at some point in their life. You aren’t broken or wrong for thinking this way. But if you let it consume you, you’ll find yourself slipping away faster.”

“Too late,” Victor whispered to himself.

A soft click drew his attention to a blank section of wall. A seam had appeared in the sound-proofing material and as he watched, a hidden door swung open slowly. A large man stepped into the room. He carried himself with an air of utter surety, shoulders squared and bald head lifted so his controlling gaze could take in the full scene before him.

_Elder_ , Victor thought.

The Hunter who had caught him followed behind. Now, away from the heat of battle, Victor could afford a moment to appraise the enemy who had bested him. The man’s face was set in stern resolve, with a hard mouth pressed into a thin, unmoving line. His dark eyes flicked over Victor, found him wanting, and dismissed him with causal indifference. Still, he carried himself with the same bottled lighting Victor recognized in Yuri; there was tension and violence simmering beneath the surface of his skin waiting to be unleashed and for once, Victor considered himself lucky to have escaped virtually unscathed, even if he escaped in chains.

“Victor Nikiforov,” the Elder announced, drawing to a halt a few feet away from his chair. He remained a careful distance away, close enough to show his importance and confidence, but far enough that Victor would be unable to lunge for him.

Victor tilted his head and held the Elder’s glance. “Yes?”

“You are now a prisoner of the Brotherhood. At any time, we can choose to end your preternatural life and cast your demonic soul back to the hell it came from.”

_Blah blah blah_. Victor restrained himself from rolling his eyes. The Brotherhood had always been like this. All hellfire and damnation and evil. Hypocrites, the lot of them.

The Elder continued droning on, threatening Victor over every little thing. If he did _anything_ —including the basics, like living—the Brotherhood would kill him. He was about to interrupt in the hope that he could be put of his misery when the Elder said something strange.

“If it weren’t for Brother Altin’s suggestions and your critical role in Feltsman’s nest, I would dispatch you myself. However, in light of your potential use, the Council has decided to give you one last chance to divest yourself of your sins before we cast you from this world.”

“What?”

The man fixed him with a vicious look for responding. “Brother Katsuki,” he called.

To Victor’s eternal shock, a _third_ man appeared, although his face remained obscured thanks to the lighting of the room. He’d apparently been there the whole time, hidden behind the Elder and Brother Altin, the Hunter Victor would have to kill if he got the chance. How had Victor missed him?

He shut his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He pushed away the scents of the other two men and focused on this shadow of a human. Brother Katsuki. Soap and old parchment. He started salivating. That had never happened before. What would his blood taste like? Would it be sweet or strong or thick with salt?

Victor swallowed hard and did his best to listen to the slew of directions the Elder threw at him. Answer all Brother Katsuki’s questions. _Happily, especially if I can sneak in a few questions of my own._ Do not threaten him with physical harm. _How could I ever hurt someone so delicious?_ Disobey Brother Katsuki’s orders at any point and face— _death. Obviously._

“Do you understand?”

Victor smiled, careful to keep his fangs hidden, and answered, “Perfectly.”

He waited. He watched. The Elder turned back to mutter something to the other two men. His directions must not have been new, because a moment later he was sweeping out of the room. Probably going back to watch through the not-so-secret window Victor knew was installed. Brother Altin—damn, Victor hated him—didn’t waste time posturing. He simply held onto Brother Katsuki’s elbow, whispered something in his ear, and left. The door closed behind him and Victor was left alone with the mysterious Brother Katsuki.

“Good evening,” Victor said, hoping to make a good first impression.

The man didn’t come any closer.

Victor frowned a little and tried again. “Who are you, Brother Katsuki? I’m surprised they’re leaving you alone in here with me.”

Still no response. At least, not one with words. Instead, all he heard a soft, ragged exhalation.

“I can’t believe this,” Brother Katsuki murmured.

Victor tilted his head and lifted a brow, doing what he could to put himself in the best light. Not that there was much room to do that since he was still bound to the chair. Worth a shot though. “Can’t believe what?”

“That I’m in the same room as Victor Nikiforov.” The soft awe threaded through the man’s voice nearly undid Victor.

No one, not even the turned vampires who lived in the nest with them, ever spoke of him that way. Yes, he was respected, and yes, he was held in high regard, but no one had once sounded so affectionate. So kind.

“Are you a fan?” Victor asked. He grimaced as soon as it came out. “Sorry. I don’t mean it that way.”

“I understand. And, yes, in a manner of speaking I guess I am. I’ve been researching you for a while.”

“Researching me?”

“We keep impeccable records. And you …” He trailed off and shook his head.

It was infuriating to only be able to see the steady movement of black hair but have no idea what the face tilted away and hidden beneath that sheepish set of the neck and shoulders looked like.

He had to push a little more. “I …?”

“You’ve always been so fascinating to me.”

The sharp, beautiful contraction in his chest stole his breath and made him wish he still had a heart left. “Please,” he begged, “let’s talk.” And, because he was selfish, “Please stop hiding from me. Let me see your face.”

He may have pushed too hard too soon, judging from the way the other man froze. But then—finally, _finally_ —Brother Katsuki stepped into the light, lifted his head, and held Victor’s gaze.

Victor was back in Paris, lost in the midst of a teeming mass of humanity. And, just like that time, when those dark eyes behind their glass lenses met his and didn’t flinch away, it felt like the world had slowed and held its breath the same way Victor held his.

Except he wasn’t in Paris anymore. He was in a Brotherhood prison, and he had no regrets because the man standing before him was the only reason he hadn’t thrown himself into the Seine all those years ago.

“It’s _you_ ,” Victor breathed.

Brother Katsuki inclined his head again, a shy movement this time. But his gaze never wavered. “Ready to talk, Victor?”

_With you, always._ "Yes. I believe it's long overdue, don't you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a long delay between updates. Sorry for the delay and for the length; this is a bit of a transition chapter. But I promise there's a good reason for my tardiness...I'm officially working on my Unseelie Princes series!!! You can check out my Tumblr or website for more info on that. :) So thanks for sticking around with me and giving this one a shot, even if it's taking a long time to get done. You're all incredible!!!


	5. 17:24

He remembered. Yuuri couldn’t quite believe it, but here he was, in the same room, dragging a chair in so he could sit across from Victor Nikiforov to interrogate him, and the vampire _remembered_ who Yuuri was.

“How are you?” Victor asked as he sat down.

Yuuri fumbled with his notebook, nearly dropping his pen, and recovered with minimal grace. Cheeks burning, he kept his eyes on the blank page he flipped to and mumbled, “Fine. You?”

Victor’s peal of laughter lit up the miserably barren room. It danced through the air, bursting against the corners and spinning back to them. The vampire gave a sweet smile—with a hint of fang, this time—and shrugged. Well, tried to shrug, since the chains prevented the actual movement. “I’ve had better days.”

_I am an idiot._ “Oh…that makes sense. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” If he weren’t trapped, he’d probably be waving a flippant hand along with the throwaway command. As it was, instead he tossed that fall of molten silver out of his face and focused all his attention on Yuuri. “So, what are we doing here?”

“Umm, Brother Lincoln explained that already.”

He wriggled a bit when the sharp blue gaze didn’t leave him. “I know what he said,” Victor murmured. “I want to know what _you_ think we’re doing here.”

“Well … I … You see …”

“Stop.”

He did. Instinctively, without thought, and without hesitation. Even Victor looked surprised at that. The vampire tilted his head and gave Yuuri another look, more appraising this time. “I don’t need you to lie to me.” The tip of his tongue poked out to run a nervous line over his lower lip and Yuuri dropped his notebook down into his lap to hide the instant—and horribly regrettable—reaction.

“They’re not going to let me live,” Victor finally added.

“I know.”

“And I won’t give up my family.”

“I know that too.”

“Then why are we here?”

It was Yuuri’s turn to shrug. “Why do we protect Titian’s works? Regardless of a masterpiece’s worth, you value its artistry. You try to learn from it.”

_Fuck. That was too obvious._

A faint pink rose in Victor’s cheeks, despite the rakish grin he threw on to cover his first reaction of surprise. “Masterpiece? Artistry? Brother Katsuki, you’re too kind.”

Yuuri clasped his hands on his notebook and leaned forward, doing his level best to slow the erratic beat of his heart and to quell the complex tangle of embarrassment and eagerness threatening to destroy what was left of his common sense. “When this interview is over, the Brotherhood _will_ kill you. But before they do, I want to learn more about you. I want the details you didn’t include in your letters and journals. Losing history is … painfully short-sighted. Brother Lincoln understands that.”

It was a horrendous lie. Brother Lincoln didn’t give a rat’s ass about history or documenting the wealth of knowledge Victor held. Yuuri also didn’t add that the only reason he was in this room was because the elder expected Yuuri to coax details about the family out of Victor. No, history had no bearing on this. His job was to build a rapport with the captive vampire and take advantage of this final meeting to the best of his ability. What happened after …well, that would come soon enough.

“Knowing that,” Yuuri said, “are you still willing to talk with me?”

“Of course. I’ve been dying to run into you ever since Paris.”

“What have you been doing since then?”

Victor’s pout was adorable. It shouldn’t have been. Centuries-old vampires were dangerous monsters, capable of killing in seconds. Pouting seemed beneath them. Yet, Victor’s lower lip plumped when the tips of his fangs pressed into it and the faux misery he shot Yuuri’s way left him torn between apologizing and laughing. “You mean you haven’t been following my exploits, Brother Katsuki?”

Laughter won out, although it was hushed. He didn’t want Brother Lincoln or Otabek interrupting them this early. It would be a fine line to walk and before he went back behind the glass, he’d have to come up with an excuse for the flirting. He flipped through a few pages of his notes, located the section he wanted, and rattled off, “You left Paris a day after I did. Resurfaced in Istanbul around the time we began receiving reports of unusual kills. By the time you left, the reports had stopped and no further victims were found. After that, Nepal, Siberia, and finally, back home.”

“You’ve done your research well,” Victor said, tapping a finger against the chair seat.

“Prior to your arrival in each location, we received word of attacks and killings. Yet, after your visit, the reports ended, and not because the witnesses were dead.” Yuuri glanced up from his notes. “You were collecting other vampires.”

“Question or statement?” Victor asked. He was smiling again, but it wasn’t genuine. No, this was the artfully arranged glibness he sported in pictures and paintings across centuries, one meant for an audience he neither respected or worried about offending.

It was a risk to respond, but Yuuri hadn’t made it this far in the Brotherhood’s ranks without taking a few risks. “Statement.”

“You’re braver than I expected. And _молодец_ ,” Victor purred, “you’re right.”

The tension in Yuuri’s shoulders vanished with the confirmation. He bet that somewhere behind the glass, Brother Lincoln was giving Otabek a single, grumpy nod of approval. “Why would you travel so far abroad to gather them?”

“Family is family,” Victor said. “You don’t abandon them because it’s easier. Besides, many of them were young and needed guidance.” He lifted a brow and his smile grew sharp enough to draw blood. “ _Were_ being the operative word. Your Hunters slaughtered them tonight. A waste, on all sides.”

“Why’s that?”

“Ah ah ah, Brother Katsuki,” Victor sang, his voice rising and falling over the words. “If we’re going to play, it should be a fair match. Question for question, or you can let them stake me now.”

_Shit._ Yuuri tapped his pen against the notebook, anxiety rising. “I don’t know if I can give you that.”

“You’d better find out.”

He rose, watching Victor as he moved toward the hidden door. The vampire looked relaxed, bored even, and didn’t seem to be waiting for an opportunity for escape.

“I don’t know how long it will take,” Yuuri warned, the words slow and more unsteady than he wanted.

Victor’s laugh was tinged with bitterness. “Take your time. I’ve got plenty of it.”

*****

“Absolutely not!”

Yuuri stuffed his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from planting a fist in Otabek’s outraged face. The urge was new and completely unwelcome. Otabek was the only reason Yuuri was able to talk to Victor in the first place, and after the brief conversation they’d just have, he’s be worried if Otabek _didn’t_ have concerns about letting them be alone together.

The Hunter didn’t notice Yuuri’s inner turmoil, or didn’t care, since he remained turned toward Brother Lincoln and positively bristled as he continued on his tirade. “He’s toying with Brother Katsuki. You already laid down the rules of this interrogation and now he’s trying to change them.”

“He’s bored,” Yuuri interrupted.

Otabek shot him a venomous look, but Brother Lincoln slipped from bored to slightly interested. Yuuri decided it was best to push his advantage.

“It doesn’t matter if we exchange questions and answers. He’s going to be killed anyway. And if I can get more information for the Brotherhood, it’s worth the compromise.”

“It’s an invasion of your privacy,” Otabek said. “He’s trying to get into your head.”

“Oh, and how would you know that?” Yuuri shot back. “How often did you stop to talk to vampires you’ve killed? Wait, I know this answer. _None_. I’ve been studying Victor for years. I know him better than anyone else does, outside his nest.”

Brother Lincoln was fully listening now.

“He’s not trying to fuck with me, Brother Altin. He’s preparing himself for death. It means he wants someone to ask about his life, to ask him to share his knowledge. Why do you think he spent so much time writing letters to the Ice Tiger without expecting a single response? He needs catharsis. He needs to confess himself to someone and I’m the perfect choice.” Yuuri took a deep breath and a step forward, which put him closer to Brother Lincoln than Otabek. “I have been training for this moment, sir. I want … no, I _have to_ do this. I left the field and threw myself into studying this one target. Please, give me the opportunity to prove myself to the Brotherhood. I won’t fail you.”

“Done.”

It was the most anticlimactic battle Yuuri had ever fought. Brother Lincoln didn’t even bat an eye when he approved the request. He simply said one word and strode toward the door. “I don’t have time to argue this further, Brother Altin. Brother Katsuki has proven himself a valuable member of our organization and his judgment is to be trusted. I am expected to return to our London branch by this evening. Brother Katsuki, I am granting you command of the Nikiforov interrogation. Use your discretion to get whatever information you can out of him before his execution in the morning. I do not care about the methods you use to get this information, as long as he does not escape your custody. You will have a full report prepared for me by tomorrow afternoon. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Brother Altin, if you are incapable of respecting Brother Katsuki’s role, I suggest you leave with me.”

Otabek didn’t move, the rebuke sharp enough that any further discipline was unnecessary. Brother Lincoln pushed open the door and exited, leaving the two men alone.

“Otabek—” Yuuri started, but stopped when Otabek held up a hand.

“I’m sorry,” Otabek said. “You’re right. You’re the best man for this job.”

“He isn’t going to kill me.”

“That’s what worries me.” Otabek risked a glance at Yuuri. His normally stoic expression was pinched with concern. “I … I feel like an absolute bastard for saying this, but no matter how obsessed you were, I never thought much of it. It wasn’t like you would ever meet him again. And even if you did, I figured he’d act the same way he had in Paris.”

His gaze skittered away from Yuuri and back toward the window. Toward the figure lounging in the chair with envious insouciance. Otabek’s fist clenched and a tiny part of Yuuri wondered if he should try to soothe the man’s obvious anger.

“But that’s not how it is,” Otabek muttered. “He _remembers_ you.”

“That’s going to help us. I don’t have to waste time earning his trust.”

“Maybe.” Otabek shook his head. “I don’t like it. I know I don’t have to. And I’ll obey your orders, I swear. Just … be careful in there. Please.”

The _please_ is what did it. Yuuri crossed the distance between them and wrapped a hand around Otabek’s. They stood quietly, shoulder brushing shoulder, hands intertwined, watching Victor. The vampire continued to stare at the section of wall Yuuri had walked out of. After a few minutes, he tipped his head back and rested it against the top of the chair’s metal back, sighing loudly.

“I lied,” he called out to the empty room, “don’t take your time. This is the worst waste of immortality I can think of.”

Yuuri squeezed Otabek’s hand. “I should go.”

“So should I.” Otabek lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, although his dark gaze never moved from Victor. “If I have to watch you flirting with him any more I’m going to walk in there and stake him.”

“We agreed this wasn’t anything serious,” Yuuri protested weakly. “If the Brotherhood knew about us—”

“They can go fuck themselves,” Otabek growled. “And this isn’t about us. This is about watching you, a human, flirting with one of _them_.” His lip curled. “Remember, he’s a monster. A demon. It doesn’t matter how charming or handsome he is. He’ll kill you the second you give him an opening. I’m tired of losing people I care about.”

And, like that, the weight of the past crushed in on them both. Otabek’s family, lost in a single attack. Yuuri had read it wrong. This reaction had nothing to do with Victor stealing Yuuri away from Otabek. He was a fool to doubt Otabek’s devotion to the Brotherhood. This was about another vampire hurting a human Otabek valued. The most basic level of protective instinct.

“You won’t lose me tonight,” he promised. The rest of it, the unspoken words, choked him and stayed trapped inside as he stared at the silver haired tempter he had to return to. _You already lost me years ago._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! I'm chipping away at this one, but my focus is now on Prince of Air and Darkness and the other two books in the series that got contracted. You can catch up with updates on my writing over on Tumblr (authormagrant). Thanks a million times over for the support!!!


	6. 18:01

Otabek left shortly after, replaced with a young Hunter who looked like he wanted to piss himself when he saw Victor through the glass. It was a stupid impulse, but Yuuri ordered him to turn off all the recording devices and to ensure no one came to watch the interrogation. If he’d been anyone else, anyone less well-known, he doubted the kid would have obeyed. Instead, his orders were followed with swift acceptance.

“Brother Katsuki, is anyone allowed to watch this?” the poor kid asked once they left the room and returned to the hall.

Yuuri paused, running through a quick mental checklist. “Any of our Elders, of course.”

The kid nodded.

“If Brother Altin returns, I’m willing to grant him access. Nikiforov was his capture, after all.” He tried to think of anyone else, and finally came up with one more name. “And if Brother Kenjirou comes to find me, allow him in. He’s my apprentice and has a foundational knowledge of Yakov’s nest. He would find the interrogation interesting.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll make sure no one else interrupts.”

Yuuri spared the kid one quick smile and headed back into the interrogation room. Victor lifted his head when he returned, but Yuuri saw the surprised delight in the vampire’s face before he managed to shutter the expression. Victor was good at pretending to enjoy his distant celebrity. Yuuri was better at reading him though.

“I got what you wanted,” Yuuri explained as he settled back into his chair.

One of Victor’s brows raised. “Really? I didn’t expect that.”

“Most people don’t,” Yuuri said. “I’m good at what I do and I get what I want.”

Victor’s smile was pure sin. “Lovely.”

It was a damn good thing Otabek wasn’t watching anymore. Yuuri had no way of hiding the blush that stole over his cheeks. “I believe it’s your question,” he prompted, hoping the discussion would help his mind crawl back out of the gutter.

“Who’s your favorite Impressionist painter?”

“What?” Yuuri blinked and stared. The vampire looked quite pleased with himself. “You want to know _that_?”

“We met in Paris,” Victor said. “I assume you took the time to visit the museums … Even your rabble can appreciate true works of art. Am I wrong?”

“N-no. I went to museums while I was there.” He’d loved those stolen moments, in fact. Otabek hadn’t been on that trip, so Yuri had had all the time in the world to wander and explore without the unrelenting urge to return to the hotel room for another round of stress-relieving sex. That free time, of course, is why he ran into Victor in the first place.

“So, who is it?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“John Singer Sargent. He made people look … real.” Victor’s surprise was a living thing and Yuuri wished he hasn’t answered so honestly. He squirmed a little in his seat and looked down at his notepad. “I always loved how he could make me feel like I was looking someone in the eyes when I saw his paintings, rather than seeing someone trapped in a moment.”

Victor made a soft noise and Yuuri risked a glance at him. He was smiling, but it wasn’t the polished facade he’d thrown on earlier. Nor was it at all seductive. If anything, he looked more _human_ than anything else. Yuuri didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’d forgotten about him,” Victor said quietly. “And you’re right. He had a talent for _seeing_ the person as their most ideal self, not as a beautiful placeholder.” He managed a gentle shrug. “I forgot how much I missed him.”

“You met him?”

“A while ago. Bought one of his paintings before he became more well known.” Now the devil-may-care curl of the lip returned. “I always liked to support artists when I could. Your turn, Brother Katsuki.”

He ignored the teasing tone Victor used on his title and lifted his pen. “Why was tonight’s outcome a waste?”

Victor frowned. “Stuck on that one, are you?” He fixed Yuuri with a sad look. “For someone so smart, you overlook such simple details.”

“That’s not an answer. Stop avoiding the question.”

“The loss of life wasn’t necessary. So many young children gone. For what? Bragging rights? Victory? A hollow word for a hollow achievement. There’s no victory in genocide. And that’s what your Brotherhood aims for, no matter the polite euphemisms you use in your meetings and trainings. My family has done nothing to you—to humanity, in general—except teach other vampires how to control themselves and their predatory instincts. Our thanks is your blade.” He clucked his tongue and the disgust in his voice made the back of Yuuri’s neck burn from second-hand embarrassment. “There. Question answered.”

Yuuri stared down at his notepad and tried to jot down a few words. His hand trembled over that word. _Genocide_. When he was younger, he would never have seen the extermination of vampires as such a thing. Now though, after years spent reading Victor’s letters and journals, after years studying how nests worked and families were formed … Maybe Victor was right. Maybe he’d always known Victor was right, but he’d been so desperate for acceptance and protection and trust that he’d ignored the warning signs until it was too late.

_This is what Otabek worried about_ , a dangerous voice whispered in the back of his mind. _This is the twisted view he worried Victor would seduce you with._

Otabek didn’t question, not like he did. Otabek was the good soldier. Otabek looked into this room and viewed Victor as a monster, as undeserving of life. No matter the feelings between them, Yuuri could never understand that raw hatred. He could never reconcile the man whose bed he occasionally shared with the fighter whose hand never stayed a blade of execution. But it was true … the Brotherhood would consider Victor’s statement—his view of basic decency—as dangerous and inciting because it was spoken around fangs.

It took a moment to realize Victor had spoken to him. Yuuri put his pen down on the notepad and looked up. Victor watched him with quiet concern. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I’m fine,” Yuuri replied automatically.

He wasn’t. His stomach churned and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to vomit or apologize or both. He needed to get a grip. Needed to return to the interrogation as he was supposed to before someone came to check on him and saw him so confused. In the Brotherhood, confusion was a sign of betrayal.

He sucked in a slow breath and released it with the same speed. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself in front of the Brotherhood’s greatest enemy, he managed, “Your turn.”

“What’s your favorite food?” When Yuuri didn’t answer right away, Victor lifted a silver brow and added, “If you choose not to answer, this interrogation is over.”

Yuuri shook his head, but a treacherous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Homemade or in a restaurant?”

“Homemade,” Victor said automatically. “Homemade is always better.”

“Katsudon,” Yuuri replied. Victor’s expression was one of polite confusion, so Yuuri decided to explain. “It’s a kind of comfort food. Breaded and fried pork cutlet with onions and eggs and a sauce over rice. My mother used to make the best katsudon I ever tasted.” He chuckled when the very thought of a bowlful made his mouth water. “I haven’t had it forever.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything else.

Yuuri glanced back down at his notepad, forced himself to lift his pen, and asked, “Who are the significant members of your nest, and where are they going?”

Victor frowned. “Yuuri,” he chided gently, “that’s _two_ questions. Besides, you know I can’t answer them. I’m sure you _know_ who my family is, and I wouldn’t risk telling you where they’re going just so they can be captured and executed by your friends.”

For some reason, Victor’s quiet disappointment bothered Yuuri more than his refusal to answer the question. Yuuri tapped his pen nib against the notebook’s page and tried his best to avoid Victor’s piercing stare. “I have to ask those questions,” he said. “It’s expected.”

“Fine. Then I choose to answer your second question.” Victor leaned away and Yuuri tried not to feel frustrated by the distance suddenly opening up between them. “My family has left our nest. I stayed behind to defend their escape, so I have no idea where they’ll go next.”

“Okay,” Yuuri whispered. It was more of an answer than he thought he’d get. Victor was being indulgent.

“What did I ever do to make Brother Altin hate me so much?”

Yuuri nearly dropped his pen, he was so surprised. Victor didn’t seem particularly emotional about the situation. He simple waited for Yuuri’s response, watching his face carefully for any change of expression.

“I … I’m not sure what you … Why would you ask …?” he stammered.

“Brother Altin was less than gentle bringing me here,” Victor said. “Honestly, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Since my capture though, he’s seemed quite perturbed. I’m curious why.”

“I’m afraid you’d have to ask him,” Yuuri said.

“No, I don’t think so,” Victor mused. “I think you _know_ the answer and you’re choosing not to tell me, which breaks the rules. Isn’t that right, Brother Katsuki?”

Yuuri gritted his teeth and tried to keep calm at Victor’s overly formal reminder of who held all the cards. “I’m not sure why Brother Altin hates you. I don’t even know if he _does_ hate you. He’s so set against all vampires, I really don’t think it’s that personal.”

Except, if he thought about it, he wondered how much of his rambling about Victor’s past, how many details about his vampiric accomplishments, had been told to Otabek over the years. Maybe Otabek _did_ dislike Victor specifically, and maybe it was due to Yuuri. He pushed the worry aside. There was no point in wondering over Otabek’s motives when he had so little time left with Victor as it was.

So little time. Victor, the immortal vampire, would be executed in mere hours. Yuuri had years’ worth of questions to ask and there was no time. A fresh wave of anxiety and regret crested and crashed through him. Killing Victor was like destroying a precious artifact, and Yuuri knew there was nothing he could do to stop that inevitable end.

That momentary panic was the only reason he blurted out, “Why did you stop writing about Ivan?”

Victor froze. If Yuuri hadn’t been staring directly at him, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it. Victor’s muscles were held in perfect lines and even his breathing had ceased. For the briefest moment, Yuuri could see just how _inhuman_ he was. Then he gave a slow blink and asked quietly, “I beg your pardon?”

“For years, you kept up correspondence with a man named Ivan,” Yuuri continued in a rush. He leaned in closer to Victor, desperate to have this long, burning question answered. “Most of the letters between you two were lost, but a handful were recovered from one of the abandoned nests. They’re …” He swallowed hard. “They’re beautifully written.”

It was a crass understatement. The letters between Victor and Ivan weren’t beautifully written. They were pure poetry. The love between the two men had shown through in every word, every turn of phrase, despite their most careful efforts to avoid obvious detection. Yuuri had been fascinated by Victor before he read those letters, but once those thoughts were in his head, once he understood what they meant, he’d never been able to turn back from the obsessive nature of his research. He had to understand how Victor could feel so deeply despite all the losses he’d suffered over the centuries. He had to understand how a man could learn to love without reservation. Yuuri had never felt that kind of emotional attachment to anyone; the closest glimmer he’d ever felt was towards Victor, which led him down a dark and dangerous path. There was something about Victor, about his writing and his mind, that called to Yuuri. He had to learn why Victor affected him so much now, before he lost the chance forever and risked spending the rest of his life aloof and distant from the rest of humanity.

“You found our letters,” Victor repeated dumbly.

Yuuri nodded. Victor’s reaction scared him a little. The vampire was so controlled, Yuuri wasn’t sure what his next move would be.

“You _read_ our letters.”

Again, Yuuri nodded. “I’m a historian,” he said, hoping Victor would hear the silent apology in his voice. “It’s part of my job.”

“Then you surely know _why_ I stopped writing to Ivan,” Victor said in that same cool, clipped tone.

“No, I don’t. I tried to find him in any records, but it was too late. I’ve always wondered—”

“He died.”

The words hit Yuuri like a bullet to the chest. He drew back, the breath behind his ribs catching painfully, and stared at Victor in shock. “W—what?”

“Ivan and I grew up together. He knew what I was and never questioned it. We simply were. We fought in the war together, but lost each other on the front. Once I’d fed and healed from the worst of the fighting, I went back for Ivan. By the time I found him, he was too far gone from sickness. Turning him wouldn’t have worked. So we said goodbye.” Victor’s words were too precise, too carefully modulated to be the full truth.

Years of reading between the lines of Victor’s journals, of studying his behavior from eyewitness accounts let Yuuri put it together far too quickly. “You offered though.”

Victor said nothing.

“And _he_ refused you.”

The pain flashing over Victor’s face cut like a knife, even as it disappeared a moment later. “Oh?” Victor asked.

“He did,” Yuuri said. His throat was too tight, his eyes hot and stinging when he blinked. “You loved each other, but he wouldn’t let you save him. Why?”

“That’s a new question,” Victor whispered. He tilted his head and leaned in closer, until Yuuri could count the individual lashes framing his eyes. “Why does it matter to you?”

“Because it’s not fair,” Yuuri whispered back. He was crying now. It was absurd, ridiculous to cry over something so trivial, but hearing his worst suspicions confirmed by the very subject of his studies, had opened a wound Yuuri never knew existed. “Most people go their entire lives without experiencing the kind of love you two had. How could he have walked away from it? I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes love isn’t meant to be,” Victor said.

“Bullshit,” Yuuri snapped. “If I had your love, I would fight for it until death.”

The words hung there between them. Glaring, obvious, aching. Yuuri flushed in a sudden, heated burst, and wondered if it was too late to flee the room. Victor would surely mock him for such a pathetic declaration. Victor _should_ mock him. A Hunter making such an absurd statement must seem a twisted joke to him ...

Instead, the vampire smiled, a sweet, shy twist of his lips, and asked, “You would?”

“Of course.”

“Would you fight beyond death?”

Yuuri couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Victor’s question was too pointed, too close to uncovering the most secret recesses of Yuuri’s heart. Too close to asking the question Yuuri had never allowed himself to consider because the odds of running into Victor again were too slim. But even if he couldn’t give the words, he could answer.

Yuuri nodded once and Victor made a noise like the air had been punched out of him as he leaned back into his chair. He looked dazed. “You really would,” he breathed.

Yuuri clutched tighter at his notebook, wrinkling the pages, no doubt, and wondered if Victor would say anything else. He wasn’t sure he could bear it if Victor pushed him any further on the topic. His courage had run out, and there was nothing left but the fear he’d ruined everything. His place in the Brotherhood, Victor’s trust in him, even his own faith in himself.

“I need a moment,” Victor said. And, as if he knew the fears lurking in the forefront of Yuuri’s mind, he added quickly, “Just a moment. No more than a few minutes. You can give me that time, can’t you?”

He wasn't ordering Yuuri away. He wasn't disgusted by Yuuri. Relief was a sweet release and Yuuri could breathe again. “Yes,” he promised.

“Come back to me in a few minutes. Please.” There was no smile on Victor’s face when he lifted his chin and stared at Yuuri. But there was some kind of wonderment in his eyes and that was enough.

Yuuri rose and left the room, leaving the stunned vampire and his own, awkward admission behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book 2 of my contract (The Marked Prince) was just finished and I have a short period of downtime before starting Book 3. I've been dying to work on this fic for months, but finally can! No idea how many updates I'll be able to fit in, but I'll do what I can. Thanks for sticking it out with me, despite my miserable schedule.


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